


I Dreamt of Red

by TheGrammarHawk



Series: Verdant Flower, Crimson Wind [7]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon, Post-Time Skip, Temporary Character Death, Verdant Flower/Crimson Wind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: “Red. Red like… Red Wolf Moon, and the trees that go with it. Red like the sunset. The red ink to color a rose as it runs out of the boundaries of the lines… red like blood,” she spat, nose wrinkling, “and so, so much of it. It blurs into one another, enough that I could not make out what was red. Whatever it was, I have no doubt that by the time I woke, it had been consumed by the damned color.”or,The empire holds a ball. When the emperor is threatened, everyone looks in the wrong direction.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary/Bernadetta von Varley, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s), My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Series: Verdant Flower, Crimson Wind [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586869
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	I Dreamt of Red

**Author's Note:**

> some notes-  
> this is a BE+GD au with bylass for GD and bylad for BE  
> the children of the same sex couples were conceived through surrogacy!  
> i worldbuild and theorize a bunch so,, if you ever have any questions feel free to ask!

Political balls were nothing new. Ever since the war ended, it seemed a new party or ball popped up every month. In the Year 1202, most of the renowned leaders of the war to topple the Archbishop, Rhea, and Prince of Delusions, Dimitri, had finally found themselves in a world they could say with confidence was at peace. Granted, life wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t easy, but that hardly stopped anyone from greeting each new day with a bright hope that hadn’t existed two decades ago.

There were very few things that could pollute the newfound serenity for the exhausted veterans. The new Archbishop, Lady Byleth, suddenly changing course of action?

That was a sure way to spread unease.

The king and queen of the Leicester Monarchy had been in Enbarr lately, making sure that all of their treaties were still properly in order, as well as generally catching up. The fair weather of Great Tree Moon had meant that the four children of Leicester’s future had been able to come as well, eager to socialize with their cousins and explore the Imperial capital. At thirteen and twelve, respectively, the twins Riviera and Xavier were often found gossiping with their cousin Reinhilde, now deeming themselves too old, too _cool_ , to play with the younger kids, however short those statements lasted. For the most part, Amalric, at ten, and Nordan, at nine, were perfectly fine with their annoying older siblings ignoring them, leaving them to exploring the library for new books. As for the four year old Markel, well, the youngest prince was either hanging onto one of his parents’ legs, or hounding the older children, both of which were activities he deemed to be _far_ better than the mere idea of hanging near the only child in the palace close to his age.

After all, it was widely known by now that Amira von Vestra was a complete menace, even at five years old.

In any case, the emperor and her consort had been informed that the king and archbishop would be leaving at dawn, sadly unable to stay for the ball that celebrated the Imperial anniversary.

It made the sight of Amalric reading a story about knights and princesses to Markel a lot less cute when they both finally rose to face the castle.

The best case scenario was that the von Riegans had overslept, something that they honestly could indulge in more often - or, perhaps, they had gotten a message that cleared the next event off their schedule, allowing them to stay for the ball.

Frankly, Byleth and Edelgard would have even taken the absurd idea that they had already left and had forgotten their youngest son.

But it couldn’t be that simple. When Byleth was found still in the suite that had been known as hers for good regardless of whether she was here or not, running her hands through her light green hair as Claude left the room to attempt to find their other children, the very look in her eyes was enough to inform her brother of what had happened.

Edelgard hovered a couple steps behind him as he went to her, still dressed in her nightclothes. He kneeled down to get on her level, their identical eyes judging each other, and seeing who would give first.

It turned out that the emperor would bend before either twin.

“I suppose it would be correct to presume that your delay is not brought about by a sudden illness in the family?”

The archbishop shook her head, pale fingers digging into the fabric of her bed sheets.

“No. I… had a dream.”

So it was to be one of the bad scenarios.

Edelgard sat beside her as Byleth continued to kneel, gently prodding his sister for more information in the silent way that always seemed to work.

“I saw the ball. Dancing… and screaming, but of who I do not know. It’s… how it always is. Both sides of time may be revealed to me, but that does not make the picture clear.”

The description was one of the more vague ones she had offered over the years, but truthfully, it did not sound like cause for extreme alarm. The screaming, perhaps, was unsettling, but with how hectic the palace could be nowadays it would’ve been more alarming if she had heard only silence.

Another hand was drawn anxiously through her hair before she spoke again, head lifted, eyes staring out beyond her brother to some unknown future.

“I dreamt of red.”

Another unclear clue, but this one… darker. The way his sister’s tone had such finality to it was enough to bring her brother to coax for more.

“What sort of red?”

A soft hum, Byleth considered the question. With a flick of her wrist, she attempted to elaborate.

“Red. Red like… Red Wolf Moon, and the trees that go with it. Red like the sunset. The red ink to color a rose as it runs out of the boundaries of the lines… red like _blood_ ,” she spat, nose wrinkling, “and so, so much of it. It blurs into one another, enough that I could not make out _what_ was red. Whatever it was, I have no doubt that by the time I woke, it had been consumed by the damned color.”

“The gown I had been planning to wear is the red of my old uniform for war,” Edelgard offered, tone placating and gentle, “I can send for another if that will ease your concern.”

Shaking her head, Byleth dissented. “No need. The red did not seem like the dye of a fabric, and even if it was, I’m certain that dozens of attendees will be wearing it. It is, after all, a common color associated with the empire. No, the majority of the red was blood, darker than the other bright shades. I’m sure of that, if nothing else.”

“Then I suppose the only remaining question is… have you stayed behind simply to warn us? I’m assuming that is not the case, lest you would have simply sent a message to Hubert and been on your way. Are you…?”

“Staying for the ball?” Byleth inquired, not missing the way her brother glanced between the women at their conversation. “I think… it would be for the best if I did. Perhaps I’ll understand what I saw more later.”

Byleth caught the words his sister did not say aloud:

_“Perhaps I’ll be needed, later.”_

***

Hubert was _not_ pleased. First of all, adding the other royal family of Fódlan to the list of guests was nothing short of _exhausting_ , considering the heightened security that would be needed. It would be easier if this ball was a joint affair, hosting both Adrestian nobles as well as those of Leicester, so that he could at least _pretend_ to not care enough to look after their safety of his own will. Leave it to the Gloucesters or Daphnels!

Worse, there was very little hope that any of their other friends from the academy would be present to lighten the load of security. The von Hevring counts were both still wandering _somewhere_ across the country, the von Varley countesses currently in Brigid. Dorothea, Bernadetta, and even Queen Petra herself were all supposed to be coming for an extended stay the next week, both in order to keep Petra caught up with her friends as well as to relax.

He had already dealt with making sure the governess was full and well prepared to wrangle four more kids than she had been expecting; Hubert was quite pleased at the grace with which she accepted the additional load. Of course, the eldest three of the von Riegans were hardly any trouble whether in regard to age or temperament, but with how young Markel was it was clear a bit more attention would be needed. Hubert _almost_ found it in himself to regret the sure nonsense that would befall by forcing the little boy into an enclosed space with Amira for an extended period of time.

Almost. Like it or not, Amira seemed to have quite the fascination with the two youngest of the Monarchy’s royal children, in most part due to them looking more like _her_ than any other children she had met. Hopefully Nordan would be able to handle her violent energy while his brother escaped. Even better: Reinhilde would take all of Amira’s attention off of the other children.

If Hubert was being honest, he certainly would have chosen attending the ball to attending the children. He had, secretly by nature, been looking forward to an excuse to relax a fragment and spend time with his husband. Ferdinand always seemed to be particularly lively during events like this, excited by the idea of socializing and dancing in ways Hubert never could be. Balls were… _enjoyable_ , to Hubert, if only because it meant he could have an excuse to show off a particularly extravagant hairstyle for Ferdinand to wear, he could take in the sight of Ferdinand’s impeccable taste being clearer than ever in the outfit he wore and insisted Hubert wear, as well, he could make scoffing comments about the dancing other nobles were doing because he knew Ferdinand would get that gleeful smirk on his face and insist that they join in the next song, because Hubert was not one that danced, and even so, having Ferdinand lead him through a waltz with such a genuine look of devotion in his eyes was always, _always_ , worth the effort of throwing the event in the first place.

Yet, as it was, the goddess had thrown a wrench in his plans, and now the disturbing warnings uttered by the archbishop were bearing fruit.

Gloved hands clenching lightly at his side, he returned to the area where the only people he truly cared about were mingling. Byleth and Edelgard both seemed nonchalant, glasses of champagne in hand as they conversed, while Claude and Byleth were noticeably more stiff, the king choosing to keep an arm about his queen’s waist to ground her.

Brows furrowing slightly, Hubert took place once more just a step behind Edelgard, nearly hovering. “Where did Ferdinand go?” After all, the prime minister had been with the four when he had been pulled away mere minutes ago by a guard.

Edelgard gave a wry smile, gesturing off to the door that led back into the halls of the palace. “He was getting antsy. Decided that he would look in on the children, again - sometimes I wonder if he’s more fearful to let them out of his sight than Byleth is, himself.”

Byleth’s eyes narrowed slightly in turn, voice low and almost indignant: “Impossible.”

“Yes, yes, dear, we know. Regardless… Hubert - what did guard have to say?”

Ah yes, that. Hubert felt his mood sour further, glancing only briefly at the younger twin to gauge her reaction when he spoke: “It appears there is to be a plot against your head, Majesty. The soldiers are beginning to lockdown the ball as we speak.”

That got a reaction from Byleth, sure enough. Her eyes flickered from looking at nothing to peering up at Hubert, the unnatural shade of green haunting.

He understood, no need for words, they _all_ understood. _It was wrong_ , an attack on Edelgard. Despite the crimson of her gown, Edelgard was not _red_ . At least, that was how Edelgard explained the situation to him. The warning of the dream was red, in all those ways that the ex-professor had described the color, particular reds all blending together, most notably _blood_.

Only a few minutes later, Hubert caught glance of an arrow being nocked. Without hesitation, his hand flexed, murderous intent manifesting in magic as a dark cloud of miasma engulfed the would-be offender. To their credit, none of his royal companions spooked in the slightest. It was with ease that three of them withdrew their hidden sabers, and with a sharp power that Byleth snatched the Sword of the Creator from her side. Though perhaps uncustomary for people to be armed at such an event as this, the Relic had looked disturbingly proper at her hip, especially considering the fanciful robes she wore that signified her position. As the sword came to life in her grip, aura appearing, she bit her lip.

“This… This isn’t the right red, either. Bright of summer, yet sharp like autumn… blood, and amber, and sunrise…”

Edelgard’s garment was too dark, too ruby. The Sword of the Creator was too light, too airy.

“It’s red, like… like the burning hearth in the cold of winter.”

 _That_ consideration felt like someone had thrown their drink in Hubert’s face. It almost sounded as if she was-

Before he could consider it any longer, more shadows seemed to slink about them, _threats_. Her Grace’s nightmares of the future were of no importance when the present spelled danger.

The crowd of nobles and middle-class alike scattered in shrieks and panic as several assassins seemed to crawl out of the woodwork. Byleth easily took up command, guiding people to safety as he perched himself carefully around Edelgard, who seemed undaunted and nearly _bored_ with the concept of threats. Claude, Byleth, and Hubert moved more freely, Hubert ruthlessly ending any life he deemed proper while Claude and Byleth were able to communicate through eyes alone.

At least ten opponents, it seemed. Surprisingly few, in Hubert’s mind, given how scandalous it was to threaten the emperor. Together his lieges were easily able to take out five on their own, two falling to him, and three or so taken care of with the slice of Claude’s blade. Strangely enough, his wife still seemed preoccupied with some thought, leaving for the king of Leicester and Almyra to dutifully make up for what she lacked in offense. Even when her legendary sword stabbed through an approaching ruffian’s stomach, she did not seem fully present.

In fact, she continued to stare at the corpse even as no more enemies came forward, even as the guards stated that the room was presently in lockdown now and no more could come in, even as Claude and Edelgard both started to pacify the anxious people with soothing words and promises of safety.

Hubert had just gotten word that soldiers were sweeping the castle for stragglers when the distant sound of screaming started - screaming that he was deeply familiar with.

“Is that your daughter?” Byleth asked, sternly wiping the blood from his blade on his pants without decorum. Hubert nodded faintly, lips pursing at the sound of such shrill, furious shrieking.

“To be completely honest, it would not surprise me that this would be her reaction to hearing of an assassination attempt,” he mused, gesturing vaguely, “we haven’t had one since we took her in, so it would likely cause for a sensible amount of outrage - as to be expected of the Vestra heir. Ferdinand is with her, he’ll return if he alone isn’t enough to settle her.”

Out of nowhere, a small fist shot out and grabbed at Byleth’s arm, causing him to turn and look at his twin. The younger sibling was still gazing at the fallen foe, eyes betraying the stream of thoughts running through her mind.

“Sister?”

Though in the past they didn’t speak much between themselves, for there was no need, nowadays they both found themselves calming calling aloud for each other, the verbal reassurance new and comforting, all the same.

Her grip on her sword tightened.

“This isn’t right.”

With the edge of a sigh on his tone, Byleth turned more fully, reaching to rest a hand on her shoulder. She turned, as well, grabbing his hand with hers and fixing him with a terrifyingly sharp glance.

“Little flower, I know that the dream has not come full cycle, but you have had some in the past that were revealed to be products of stress - or entirely prevented simply by your presence changing the flow of time,” he soothed, his voice stoic despite his speech having grown from time spent in the political eye, “perhaps you did not recall the color perfectly, or perhaps everything has already ended.”

In return, her grip on his hand only tightened, a sign of dominance that caused him to quickly quiet.

“To be smart enough to break into the Imperial palace… the weakest men would not be sent to kill the emperor.”

Those words were enough to send ice through Byleth and Hubert alike, the latter cursing to himself at such a possible oversight. _A distraction_ , a bold one at that, but to use the emperor herself as one - what possible goal could they have had?

Hubert was halfway to raising his arm in order to beckon a guard for a more thorough sweep when one of the hall doors slammed open, small frame revealing the intruder was a child, the overwhelming _pink_ of the clothes and hair, bright even at this distance, signalling just who the child was.

Lacking any grace he might have possessed, nine year old Ludolf practically sprinted across the ballroom, startled guests moving out of his way in alarm. Usually the young noble was cooed at and fawned over, especially in formalwear such as this, but between his askew jacket, hair falling out of its bun, and overall panicked demeanor, the only gasps were of shock - not awe.

Within moments, he had barreled into Hubert; Ludolf was small for his age, arms barely wrapping around Hubert’s waist as his face buried into his stomach. The boy was trembling, bright red-orange eyes peering up at his father while coated in frightened tears.

“Father - for Rein - Papa - the _blood_ -!”

Most of his words were incoherent, muffled by Hubert’s clothing and Ludolf’s distress, but enough were made out that the twins immediately gave the boy their attention. Faintly resting a hand on his head, Hubert felt the noise of the ballroom give way to a terrible ringing in his ears as he processed what had been said.

The next words he understood were Edelgard’s “Show us,” and the feeling of a small hand grabbing his own, tugging him out of the room.

Hubert came back to awareness at some point in the halls. Ludolf was still grasping his hand, face teary and determined as they ran - alongside both twins and Edelgard, he noticed - and now, now it wasn’t the cold, sinking feeling that attributed solely to the twist inside of him.

The further they went, the stronger the sensation of dark, _dark_ magic became. It would have worried him if he couldn’t detect the signature behind it - he had not felt such malevolence since nearly a year ago as he walked with Edelgard at the monastery’s marketplace.

“Is that Amira?” Edelgard questioned, shooting Hubert a knowing look. Neither twin glanced their way - both were far more adept to reading a magical signature than Edelgard, but she was not hopeless. At Hubert’s faint nod, she seemed satisfied.

“Claude remained in the ballroom to control the crowd. Hubert, I _know_ this seems bad, but please try to keep your head on until we find out the whole truth.”

If her Majesty wished it, he complied.

At least, he complied for all of the two minutes it took them to reach their destination.

The door was open, haphazard, easily revealing what laid within. What must have once been a human body was practically torn to pieces on the floor, reeking of magic and curses. In a corner, Xavier was holding a crying Markel, Riviera holding Nordan to her so that he couldn’t see the room. Amalric, with tear-tracks of his own, was clinging to Reinhilde as his older sister had her arms tight around the struggling Amira, the little girl’s hands cloaked in magic as she reached toward the dismantled corpse, still screaming.

In the center of it all, red. The color of the blood staining shirts and hands, pooling out on the floor. The color of a worse-for-wear braid, the color of frazzled waves that stuck to the tears on the last boy’s cheeks. The color of Gottfried’s crying eyes as he knelt over a curled figure on the floor, hands pressing down, as hard as they could, over the source of still-growing crimson.

The pre-teen continued to yell as if unaware of the newcomers.

“Papa, please - _please_ , open your eyes, _Papa_ -!”

Because of _course_ things could not be so easy, of _course_ there was still pain to be had in this world free of the war. Distantly, Hubert was aware of the emperor rushing her children, of the imperial consort grabbing his eldest son by the upper arm, trying to pull him away while his eyes remained trained on Reinhilde and Amalric, of the archbishop immediately sitting at the side of- of-

Edelgard tried, desperately, not to look at Hubert, frozen, in the doorway. “What _happened_ ?” she asked, a commanding bite to her tone that she didn’t mean, not toward their _children_ , one too familiar with the battlefield as she took Amalric fully into her arms, leaving Reinhilde and now Ludolf to try and restrain the still-feral Amira.

“The Governess,” Riviera spoke quickly, almost tripping over her words, “she let in, she let in this man - a brawler, or grappler, I don’t - and, and he just, he just charged in and took a swing at Reinhilde, and-”

“Uncle Ferdinand got in between us,” Reinhilde murmured, blue eyes still round in horror, “and Amira, she…”

The way her gaze traveled to the smoldering remains was enough to tell anyone what had happened next.

Hubert slowly, _slowly_ , traversed the room, stopping in front of the screeching toddler. Without ceremony, he snatched her from Reinhilde’s arms, easily picking her up: it was like magic in its own way, her yells instantly softening to angry, distressed, but _quiet_ cries as she pressed herself against him.

When Gottfried buried himself into Hubert’s side, blood-soaked hands clutching into Hubert’s doublet, _sobbing_ , the man finally looked up, now able to clearly see what lay before him.

The twins surrounded Ferdinand, all four hands glowing bright with faith magic. The man in question remained just as Gottfried had left him, spine curved, legs bent, almost in fetal position from obvious pain, curled around his wounds. A gaping hole, blood turning his white shirt scarlet, was where his stomach should have been. His entire body was tensed, clearly conscious and fully suffering from the damage, and Hubert couldn’t be sure whether he would have prefered him passed out to… to the _look_ on his face.

Ferdinand’s lips were curled in a grimace, teeth clenched, and bloodstained, eyes tightly shut, his brows furrowed in such an awful, agony-filled way that Hubert could not continue to look. He hadn’t seen a look like that on his husband since…

He tried not to think of anything more specific than “the war”.

“Hubert,” Edelgard spoke again, tone a little sharper, “you’re holding Amira too tightly, you’re going to hurt her.”

Perhaps the look he gave his emperor was harsher than it should have been, unwarranted, as he turned to put Amira back down on the floor, her cries having softened, trusting Ludolf to scoop her back up to his side.

He took a few steps forward, pretending his legs didn’t feel as though they were about to give out. Looming over the twins, he watched, stone-faced, as they worked their magic. The younger of the two kept her hands focused over the massive wound, though she gently hummed and gave reassuring nods as if to herself. Her brother seemed more distracted, eyes focused on his children and Edelgard more than Ferdinand.

More than ever, Hubert wished he had taken the study of faith more seriously. It would have allowed him to, foolish as the thought would have been, intervene. To push aside his liege and the archbishop, both of which having such strong ties to healing magic that they could sooth with but only a touch, just for the excuse that he would be able to hold Ferdinand in his own arms, where he had always been _safe_.

 _Edelgard can handle herself_ , he thought treacherously, _I could have left to check on the imperial children, I could have been the one to stop this from happening. Edelgard was surrounded by dozens of guards, by the twin ex-professors who had taught us everything, by the damn Master Tactician. I should have tended to Reinhilde and Amalric._

No. Hot shame swept across the back of his neck, a stark reminder of the things he had spoken nine years ago, with his hands clasped in Ferdinand’s, the candlelight surrounding them making his beloved’s eyes and hair glow in the night of the imperial gardens. How foolish, to nearly forget his vows, not even a decade having passed.

He should have been there for _Ferdinand_.

Byleth sat back slightly, giving a small sigh as she thumbed at the sweat along her brow. With tired eyes, her brother stood, retreating to scoop his children and wife close, desperate in his action. Hubert wasn’t sure how long he had dissociated, but it had clearly been the span of several minutes, for the space where Ferdinand’s white formal shirt was torn open was only occupied by fresh, _whole_ skin.

If it had been anything less than half an hour, the Minister of the Imperial Household would have been both shocked and touched by how powerful the magic of the twins was. He hardly paid any attention to the emperor and her family huddled tightly in the back, or to the archbishop scooping up her crying youngest son, or to his own three children that clung to each other, not daring to move forward.

No, the only thing that mattered was dropping to the floor and pulling Ferdinand into his arms. It mattered not that his clothes were covered in crimson, his braid frayed and limp, lips pinker than usual from blood. He was warm in Hubert’s arms, face hot where it came to rest on the mage’s shoulder, undoubtedly a side effect from Queen Byleth’s notorious faith magic. His eyes were open, now, glazed over and feverish from the ordeal, but very clearly focused in on the man holding him.

Hubert tried to ignore the fact that the hand clutching at his own shirt shook nearly as much as the ones he held Ferdinand with. Slowly, tenderly, he pressed a soft kiss to his husband’s forehead, all of the adrenaline and stress finally releasing their hold on him.

“I thought I had _lost_ you.”

He didn’t expect a response. He almost didn’t want one, with the way Ferdinand clearly struggled to speak. His breathing was less that and more weak, drawn out wheezing, but Hubert could recognize the way his jaw was working, just as it did when the Prime Minister was attempting to come up with a particular retort to Hubert’s latest tease.

His tough, long fingers were clenched so _tightly_ in Hubert’s shirt.

“My love,” he soothed, voice low and private, only for him, “be at ease. I will not leave you. You will-”

Hubert found himself cut off by a particularly forceful gasp from Ferdinand, blood splattering from his lips to trickle down his face and neck, the struggling all the more apparent, now.

“H… _Hubert_ ,”

A jarring cough followed, more scarlet appearing to mar Ferdinand’s face.

For all the blood bubbling at his mouth, Hubert’s own ran cold.

This couldn’t be happening.

He was brought back to the Ailell that was his current reality when Ferdinand gave a pained wince, the younger Byleth immediately at their side. For once, Hubert was in such shock he could not even consider throwing her aside. How could he give her any attention when each long-suffering wheeze brought about more blood, more agony, and more _fear_?

“He can’t breathe,” he spoke to himself, voice quiet, stunned in a way he absolutely _loathed_. He ignored the flicker of Byleth’s eyes, the dawning look, the sudden sharpness to her tone.

“Brother - the enemy must have had a blade, as well. He took a knife to the ribs, it cut through, his lung is punctured.”

The look of anger and panic in his once-professor’s eyes reminded Hubert unfairly of the awful business of Remire from years ago. Strong, indignant, full of _rage_ against the idea that something he cared for was threatened.

That something he cared for was dying right before his eyes, and that he was nearly helpless to prevent it.

As for Hubert, he _was_ helpless. It was all he could do to hold Ferdinand to him, in the delusion that so long as he did so, Ferdinand was _safe_ , for it was only those outside of arm’s reach that ever fell to death when it concerned the emperor’s right hand.

He didn’t know what was going on around him, all he could be certain of was _Ferdinand_. Of the way his head tipped back, neck cradled in Hubert’s palm, of the way his amber eyes, so unfocused now, were growing dim and losing light, of the way his lips quirked, as though unaware of the blood staining them, staining his chin, staining his neck, a weak, trembling smile as he gazed up at Hubert. For all the signs that said he wasn’t present, that the pain had addled him, his gaze was still filled with the overflowing adoration that Hubert had grown familiar with over the years, even when at first he did not want to see it.

The grin was given, and with a sigh that had blood dripping onto Hubert’s shirt, chest rattling from effort, Ferdinand let his head fall back to Hubert’s shoulder; the man nuzzled weakly at his exposed neck as though falling asleep.

As it happened, Ferdinand’s hand dropped from where it clutched him. Hubert felt as though it had punched him the gut instead of landing faintly in his lap.

Terrified lavender eyes stared at them as the faint gold and white glows of magic were cut off prematurely, without bidding. The feeling of icy _terror_ grabbed at Hubert’s chest in place of the once-warm hand as he turned to see the twins, their usually stoic gazes filled with surprise and overwhelming grief.

It was a look that informed him that he wasn’t holding his husband any longer. He was holding a _corpse_.

By now everyone had grown used to Amira’s screaming. It was part of her nature, no matter how jarring or horrible it was. It might have been expected for her to start yelling again, struggling against her brothers, shrieking her little head off.

As it was, the anguished _howl_ that filled the room was not Amira’s.

“No - _no, Papa_ ! _No!_ ”

Entire body shaking, Gottfried surged forward, face nearly as red as his hair. Taking advantage of her mother’s slack grip from shock, Reinhilde immediately intercepted him, grabbing one of his arms as Ludolf reached to grab the other. The Aegir heir struggled nonetheless; strong though he was, the combination of Ludolf and Reinhilde was too much. It was only when an awful, _crushing_ sob escaped him that Edelgard spurred back into movement, going to hold all of the kids closer to her.

She offered no comforting words: what was there that she could say? She understood, of course, how it felt to lose family. She had been around his age, after all. Even so, Gottfried was _nothing_ like her, and it was obvious that his too-big, too-full heart would not handle death like she had.

The children of the monarchy had all been shocked into silence, in large part thanks to Xavier gaining a hold on Markel and forcing him to not watch. He was too young to witness this.

They were _all_ too young to watch as Hubert’s world shattered. The man himself only came back to the world around him when he felt a small, childlike hand grasp at his sleeve, the overwhelming sensation of dark magic building in the air again.

“Will… I _**kill**_ every person… They will all… _regret_ …”

No one needed knowledge of Almyran language to understand the word she had said. _Especially_ not when Byleth flinched, finally turning to her brother.

Her brother, who was silent. He stared at his hands, still wet with blood, wet with his _student’s_ blood. She understood.

Wasn’t it supposed to be over? They had promised long ago that they’d make sure no harm befell their students. What had been a mild promise for those anxious to fight real battles became a mantra when the school year had gotten more dangerous. _We won’t let you be kidnapped like Flayn,_ they swore, hands on someone’s shoulders, tea brewed to relax them, _we won’t let you become like the villagers of Remire. We won’t let you die. So long as we’re here, you will be alright._

As expressive as she was, compared to her brother, Byleth knew that every last one of their mistakes was damning to him. That, even when he stood still as she shook and softly wept when faced with particularly horrid reasons to turn back time, he felt her same passion and hurt in full. He bottled it up, held it tight and close with lies about how it didn’t matter because it wasn’t reality, not anymore.

Even if they fixed this, he doubtless would spend much of the night pacing, going over and over every detail he could have missed to prevent this.

And, Sothis bless him, he was still waiting for his twin to make the call.

So she did.

Taking Byleth’s hands in her own equally filthy ones, she watched as he gave a small nod.

“Take out those targeting Edelgard,” she ran her thumbs over his knuckles, both planning out their revision, “they were clearly distractions, they were weak. I’ll immediately run here - I’ll grab Hubert, as well, and we’ll - we’ll make it right, brother. I swear it. Go back just enough - before that first arrow.”

Another slow nod.

With one last look around the room, at the brokenness of their collective family, Byleth closed his eyes and sought the throne where his sister would be sitting, waiting for a second chance.

***

“Yes, yes, dear, we know. Regardless… Hubert - what did guard have to say?”

Ah yes, that. Hubert felt his mood sour further, glancing only briefly at the younger twin to gauge her reaction when he spoke: “It appears there is to be a plot against your head, Majesty. The soldiers are beginning to lockdown the ball as we speak.”

That got a reaction from Byleth, sure enough. Her eyes flickered from looking at nothing to peering up at Hubert, the unnatural shade of-

Not a moment later, she was grabbing him by the wrist, an informal touch that expressed far more than anyone else could tell. When one of the twins acted rashly like that, grabbing at another with no regard for their person, it was serious; it could mean only one thing.

As such, when the archbishop broke into a sprint, dragging him across the ballroom and into the corridor, he did not hesitate to follow once he recovered.

“To the room with the children,” she murmured, so soft he almost thought it was a dream. “I’m still unfamiliar with this place. _Hurry_.”

“Is there no real threat to Edelgard?” was what he asked, because of _course_ , that he needed to tend to first of all.

Even if the anxiety gnawing through his body told him he wasn’t focused on the right person.

“Decoy. There will be people there, but of no skill - the main target is Reinhilde, Hubert. I’m going to need you to support my magical strength until my brother can join us.”

“Why not take him instead of myself? Surely if the threat is of no real heat, I could have done away with them while the two of you-”

“ _Hubert_ , it’s not - the red, it’s - it’s not the red of the empire, or entirely the red of blood, Hubert, it’s the red of the sun as it falls into night, it’s _that_ red surrounded by life’s scarlet-”

Any color in his face disappeared in an instant. A panicked spike of speed caused for him to pass her, now the one tugging her along by the wrist.

He hadn’t run this swiftly since the war, and he still felt it wouldn’t be fast enough.

His suspicions were confirmed when he blasted the door open with reckless magic only for the sight of his daughter, pink in the face, to start shrieking like a demon, a horrible bolt of violent darkness shooting from her small body to - to-

The unknown person was blasted away, flesh practically melting under the intensity of Amira’s magic.

And where they stood, Hubert could easily see Ferdinand, dress shirt blossoming from white to crimson, shielding the small form of Reinhilde; the imperial princess was pressed tightly against the wall, scared and surprised and unmoving as Ferdinand jerked, moving to fall forward as though his puppeteer had cut his strings.

There was no time to acknowledge the way Nordan’s face lit up at the sight of Hubert and his mother’s arrival. In an instant, Hubert shot across the room, wrapping his arms about his beloved to keep him from crashing to the floor.

“Sit down,” came a short bark from the queen, voice taking an old commanding tone from years ago, “hold him up, don’t lie him down, rest him up against your chest and shoulder, _hurry_.”

Even though Hubert has always prided himself at being the perfect subordinate to Edelgard, that his reflexes were quick and true, he didn’t believe that it applied to anyone _but_ her. In the war, despite what he was willing to admit, that had changed, and no amount of hesitance could be found when he obeyed the order now.

So he did as he was told, letting the background of the room fade to white noise. He couldn’t spare anyone else any attention: Gottfried and Ludolf, horrified and clutching each other, or Reinhilde coming out of her shock if only to grab Amira, to try to calm her down as Amalric shook and grabbed for his sister, or the way little Nordan had turned to his older siblings, both trying to stop Markel’s crying, the way his sharp green eyes flickered back to them as he whispered what must be _awful_ things by the look on the twins’ faces.

No, his sole focus was on propping Ferdinand up, arm strong behind his back as his hand gently supported his neck. The room bled into further panic at the pained, low groan Ferdinand gave, a thick and heavy cough splattering blood from his mouth to his lips and chin.

Hubert didn’t really hear Byleth when she instructed him to press down on the open wound of his stomach, some excuse about being unable to heal it yet thrown out as though that made _any_ sense, but Hubert couldn’t find any words to fight her with as she focused her own glowing hands over Ferdinand’s chest, concentration multiplying under the administration of white magic.

The choking sound his husband gave when she began was enough to finally bring about hot pinpricks to Hubert’s eyes, jaw clenched as Ferdinand tensed and writhed slightly against the intense heat of faith. It was overwhelming, even Hubert could feel the fire of Byleth’s hands; it was enough to make sweat drip down the back of his neck without the adrenaline still coursing through him.

Faintly he was aware that Byleth’s increased power was coming about by her siphoning his own magical strength, as if they were fighting side-by-side in battle. If that was what she needed, he would give every last drop of his magic to her willingly. She could drain him dry, consume all of his talent, leave him with nothing to spare for the rest of his life if she must.

It wasn’t enough to distract him from the way he had to continue pressing, _hard_ , against the jagged, massive hole where Ferdinand’s abdomen should have been. Hubert found himself literally holding Ferdinand together, blood and muscle and _goddess knew_ what else trying to escape his body, with only thin, spindly fingers there to keep everything inside.

If only - no, a ridiculous idea. Even if Linhardt had been here, a wound so gruesome would’ve only made him ill. Dorothea, perhaps, could have offered some magic, but her faith was nowhere near as potent as Linhardt’s.

Hubert knew some faith magic, even though it was weak and not very good in its quality. The ache in his chest prompted the faint glow along his hand where it rested, wondering if, perhaps, the bitter cold Ferdinand had described his magic to feel like would counteract the blistering heat of Byleth’s - but he did not have long to dwell on the idea before Ferdinand gave a cry far too similar to a stricken animal, Hubert’s light shutting off immediately.

Perhaps it was because so much faith ravaging his body at once only caused more strain. Perhaps it was because he could not handle the icy feel of knife-like white magic stabbing into an already damning injury.

Supplemental healing was out, then. Instead, Hubert sighed, gently kissing Ferdinand’s eyelids. Maybe that would ease the pain more, in this case. If nothing else, any call of pain softened to a weak whimper, blood rolling down from his lips, and that was better than nothing.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, be it seconds or hours, when he felt Byleth shift her posture to move one hand down, coming to press it against Hubert’s own. She laced their fingers together, golden-white glow brightening; now Hubert felt the faith even more against his own skin, but he did not dare move his hand away, even if it felt like his skin bubbled and blistered from Byleth’s fiery passion.

The burning took up no space in Hubert’s mind, not when he was faced with how tightly Ferdinand’s eyes were shut, with the desperation the younger man gripped his shirt with. So Hubert kissed his cheekbone, murmuring soft words to his ear in an attempt to calm him down.

If he had been paying any attention, he would have heard the distant sound of running. As it was, Hubert startled slightly when the already beaten door slammed back open, the figure of the other Byleth appearing in the frame.

His stolen attention was grabbed back at the faintest sound of Ferdinand’s voice, painfully quiet and trembling.

“S… _s-sorry_ , Hubert, I…”

The minister’s body shook with another bloody cough before falling still, his head dropping to Hubert’s shoulder as his hand went limp in his shirt.

Hubert could count the number of times either of the twins had shown so much _fear_ in their eyes on one hand.

Byleth unfroze where he stood only when his sister gave a sharp breath, dipping her head a bit. “He’s only fainted. He’s just fainted, brother, it’s okay.”

Miniscule relief appeared on his face as he crossed to sit at her side, holding his hands out to add his own faith, clouded eyes screaming _no, it’s not okay, but it is still better_.

As relieving as this was for them, it only made Hubert feel as though the entire world had slipped through his fingers.

There was no denying it any longer. Ferdinand had died, originally. Ferdinand had died and the twins had not been able to save him. Ferdinand had _died_ , and he was still at risk of doing such _now_.

If Hubert pulled him a little closer, pressing his cheek down against Ferdinand’s scalp, neither made any mention of it.

At some point, Hubert was fairly certain that Edelgard had joined them in the room. Only Nordan raced to the door of all the children, even Amalric and Reinhilde still frozen, likely telling the emperor of all the things that had happened, giving an explanation where his uncle had likely not. If Edelgard had covered her mouth upon seeing what was within the room, Hubert did not notice. Time meant nothing. Everyone in the room meant _nothing_ except for the unconscious one in his arms.

He _did_ notice when the imperial consort sighed, light from his hands fading to nothing as he ran a hand back through his hair, and again when the younger sister slowly let herself smile, the hand above Hubert’s gripping it tight, despite her shaking arms, and removing it from Ferdinand’s person.

New, freshly pink skin covered what had been a gaping wound.

Hubert hardly had any time to register what that meant before the archbishop leaned over, gently pressing an ear to Ferdinand’s chest before carefully running her fingers up to his neck.

“...He’s breathing,” she confirmed softly, “it’s shallow, and there’s likely still blood in his lungs, but… he’ll be alright.”

The quiet words were all it took for the growing tears to leak from Hubert’s eyes. Ferdinand was pale, unconscious, in his arms, cold from blood loss, but he would be _okay_.

Byleth stood, wrapping his son and daughter in a tight hug, none of them mentioning the blood on his hands nor the way his knees shook. Edelgard was already there, welcoming him with a kiss to his cheek as the two fully surrounded their children. Xavier hardly had a word of warning to give before Markel nearly bowled over his mother, crying into her chest. She, at least, took the time to wipe her gory hands down her gown before running fingers through her youngest’s hair.

“I’ll go - I’ll go get Father,” Riviera offered, escaping the room. No one stopped Nordan from following her.

The sound of shifting fabric alerted Hubert to Ludolf sitting at his side, Amira held in his arms. The toddler was not writhing and fighting her brother, for once, her green eyes wet to match her trembling pout.

On his other side, Gottfried slowly sat, burying his face into Hubert’s arm as he clutched at his back, shoulders shaking as he sobbed without restraint.

Perhaps if he was anyone else he would have attempted to soothe his children’s tears. As it was, he did not. Hubert did not know how to comfort someone that was crying, even now with three children - that had always been Ferdinand’s forte. He didn’t even know how to stop his _own_ few tears. How could he possibly end those of a far less rational child?

If nothing else, he _knew_ his kids. Saying anything at all would not calm Gottfried, would simply irk Ludolf, and would trigger loud and angry denials from Amira.

He loved all three of them, he truly did, but they, frightened as they were, felt _nothing_ in comparison to Hubert at this moment. Their concepts of mortality were still vague at best, because in the end, all they would know was that Ferdinand had been hurt, but he would be fine again. They had never fought a war, they had not grown up in a time where their precious innocence had been stolen from them far too soon. They could not and hopefully would _never_ be able to grasp the absolute horror of living through endless violence only to have the one you loved threatened in a time of _peace_.

They wouldn’t know for years, at the least, that Ferdinand had died today, and had died before, during the war, an unfathomable amount of times, only to be saved by their Uncle Byleth and his sister.

He hardly noticed when Edelgard approached, urging the three to follow Reinhilde and Amalric to where they could sleep for the night. Distantly, he _did_ hear Claude’s voice at the door, mentioning that the healers for the palace were desperate to come in and take control of the situation.

He’d be _damned_ if anyone took Ferdinand away from him right now. It seemed his friends understood this, for Byleth left to speak with the healers, eyes lingering faintly on them before he went.

The remaining twin held her hand up when Claude approached, concerned, before turning back to Hubert. He looked at her when she said his name, voice gentle, and wasn’t surprised to see how _exhausted_ she looked.

“He’s going to be okay,” she repeated, resting one of her hands over his own. Her skin was still overly warm from the amount of faith she had used, but he decided not to comment on it. “We did… everything possible. The sun will rise again, Hubert. Just be… wary of the lingering clouds.

“He shouldn’t do anything strenuous for at least a week; the bedrest will ensure that he is truly healed. He’s… lost a lot of blood, so he’ll be weak, and faint. He likely still has blood in his lungs, so there may be times when he coughs some up; it is best to allow this to happen to rid it from his airways. Due to the damage to his stomach, however, it’s possible that pressure or eating may make him ill. There’s… nothing more to be done except for allowing him rest. I… I do wish that I could remain in Enbarr longer, but there are matters back home that I must attend to. You’ll have my brother. You’ll have all the healers that Edelgard can supply, of course, but… we both know you will not let some healer, at random, so close to your family.”

Yes, that was true. If the imperial governess couldn’t be trusted, who else could possibly be less than friendly…

Byleth reappeared moments later, looking to Edelgard before they both approached. The emperor was patient, careful in her words.

“Hubert, will you allow for Byleth to bring Ferdinand to your quarters?”

A hollow nod: of course, if he had to give Ferdinand up, Byleth was one of the few he’d allow.

He felt all the colder when he was gone. Ever aware of Edelgard hovering near him, staring at his empty, bloodied arms, he attempted to speak, not caring that his voice was harsh and rasping.

“What _happened_?”

A sigh, weary and defeated, was all it took for Claude to cross the room at last, resting a hand on her head. Edelgard turned her attention to the queen as well, lavender eyes wide and waiting.

These were not the three that a pulse could be hidden from.

“We took the threat against Edelgard seriously. We were suspicious, even after we killed the assassins. Even when Amira started screaming, we had no idea… it took Ludolf bursting in as though he’d seen a ghost dancing before him to realize something was awry.

“Brother and I healed the obvious wound,” she waved her hand slightly, “but just as the attack on her Majesty, it was a red herring school that obscured the salmon from the fishing line. We did not know that he was drowning in his own blood until it was too late. He…”

Her lips tightened slightly, as close to a grimace she could ever give. She could not tell Hubert about the way Ferdinand looked at him as though he was his entire world before he died. It’d be far too cruel.

“C’mon, By,” Claude coaxed, taking her hand to pull her up and steadying her when she nearly stumbled, “it’s been a long day for you, too, you must be drained. Let’s get you to bed, we’ve got a long ride tomorrow.”

With one last apologetic look, she disappeared from the room behind her husband, leaving only the emperor and her right hand to remain.

“Hubert,” came her soft voice, a guardedness to it that hadn’t been heard for quite some time, “I’m certain Byleth is already done with Ferdinand. Come, let’s clean up and retire for the evening. The children will be out of your hair, and you can all remain in Enbarr as long as you need, you already know this.”

“It was your child that was targeted,” he spoke lowly, not meeting her eyes, “you should prioritize the wellbeing of your family first. I shall… I shall vet a new governess at once. Guards ought watch the imperial children sleep-”

“ _Hubert_ ,” Edelgard tried again, foot tapping the floor slightly, “please, my friend, do not deflect.”

She took his gloved hands in her own, pulling him up off the floor so she could sharply look up at him. “I have others that can attend to this. Likely, Byleth himself will oversee this process. As for tonight, I daresay that Reinhilde’s room is already overfull. Amira would not let go of her nor her brothers, so they and Amalric as well are all dogpiled in her bed. Frankly I’m amazed that her cousins didn’t join in, but there wouldn’t have been any room. It is not _Reinhilde_ that will require your attention.

“I know it’s… disheartening, that something so terrible would happen even in times of peace. Hubert, you have always been like a brother to me. Understand that you and Ferdinand are family as _well_ , in this palace, regardless of what politics may say. You’re allowed to - to prioritize him, and you’re allowed to be _upset_ , Hubert. Don’t push your emotions aside for the sake of those around you, _please_.”

Slotting her arms around his waist, Edelgard embraced Hubert, saying nothing when his hands slowly came to rest upon her shoulders, his body tensing and beginning to shake in her hold as he finally allowed himself to properly cry.

He had come so far from the young man who had determinedly refused to feel anything other than loyalty to the empire.

So she stayed there, patient, waiting as the rare, shaking sobs dimmed and faded away, until they were simply holding each other.

“Let’s clean off the blood before you retire for the night, just in case one of your children comes to be with you.”

Pulling him along, hand in hand, Edelgard easily managed to get Hubert into a presentable state, having for one of the very few times actually exhausted himself emotionally. A thorough cleaning to get rid of the blood was followed by bringing Hubert back to the quarters he and Ferdinand often stayed in, when in Enbarr - an entire wing of the imperial palace had always been dedicated to house Vestra, given they had no land, yet Hubert often found he did not miss it as he grew to spend more and more time in Aegir territory. Even so, there were often times when they stayed in the capital for over a week, so the Vestra chambers were still kept ready for use.

It was with a gentle, reassuring hand on his arm that Hubert opened the door with a click, stepping away from his liege and into the room, leaving her in the hall behind him with a promise of “Your only duties for the next week are to him, don’t consider work for a second.”

With the sight that greeted him, he had little motivation to argue. Byleth had gone through the effort to clean Ferdinand up and bandage him properly, just in case the faith magic did not hold and the wounds reopened. Changed out of his formalwear and into a set of gray cotton pajamas, somewhat oversized, Hubert fondly noted, something he had learned Ferdinand favored because he so loathed the notion of skin tight clothing when in a state of rest.

(Hubert had teased him as a result of such an admittal by wearing only the tightest clothes he owned to sleep for the next several nights, always earning a flush and stammer from the younger man.)

His braid had been undone, as well, which was no surprise to Hubert. Byleth likely thought that if it remained in, the tightness of it could cause discomfort.

Silently Hubert changed out of his own clothing and into something more appropriate, taking ages to finally sit down upon their shared bed.

He was so… _pale_. It didn’t look right, on him. He’d seen him like this before, but never so… intimately. They were fickle, even in courting, during the war. Even when a couple, Hubert had never had the time nor been the person to sit at Ferdinand’s side when he recovered from battle. It was, to put it simply, an inaction. He had never been good at inaction, neither had the professor, neither had Edelgard. Things had to be done, and with purpose, or else it was all too easy to feel… helpless.

So he, careful, stroked back the stray locks of orange hair from Ferdinand’s ashen face, bending down to give a gentle kiss to his temple.

He was still far too cold, even with the blankets pulled up and tucked around him. Perhaps he shouldn’t get too close, but… the idea of Ferdinand being cold, well… it was deplorable.

Book at his side, fresh water pitcher on the end table, Hubert allowed himself to join his husband under the covers if only to press his side up against him as he rested.

There would be no sleep tonight.

***

True enough, Hubert did not sleep. He dozed, perhaps, off and on, but he was fully awake when the moon was at its highest point and Ferdinand was stirring for the first time.

It was a small thing, the way his eyelids fluttered with the promise of eye movement beneath, the smallest hitch to his breathing as his lips curled slightly into a grimace, eyebrows knitting. His nose even gave the small wrinkle that was frequent when the Prime Minister dealt with something unpleasant.

Others may not have noticed any of these things, but Hubert always did. He was thankful as ever for that when Ferdinand’s chest spasmed, allowing for him to act more quickly when his lips only parted to bring up a sharp hack of blood.

With a swiftness he usually kept tucked away for his darker duties, Hubert set his book aside and made sure to grab the pot and towel that had been left on the end of their bed just in case; painstakingly he turned his speed to slowness, wrapping an arm under Ferdinand as he helped him to sit up better, his bright eyes starting to open despite their lack of usual shine.

Ferdinand gave a small noise of recognition before it was cut off with a heavy cough, and then another, the man falling into a dreadful fit. It was all Hubert could do to remind himself that he had been told this would happen and keep the towel up to catch the blood from his husband’s mouth.

Though that, in turn, was quickly pulled away to give room to the pot when bloody coughs gave way to being painfully sick. Of course, they had been married for nearly a decade and together for far longer, so it was with a practised hand that Hubert gently tugged the flaming locks away, keeping them safe from the crimson-stained bile.

Faintly he was reminded of the nasty bug that had swept through the academy during the Ethereal Moon, not a single student safe from illness. He had spent every second of his time hovering over Edelgard and dropping in on Petra, since the plague hardly hit him with any strength. Looking back on it, Caspar and Ferdinand had been much the same, too healthy to be sick for long, but absolute wrecks when they were. Of course, Caspar hadn’t let it get to him, too busy making sure to keep an eye on Linhardt after some less than subtle advice from Hubert himself, but there was definitely a day or two where Ferdinand hadn’t been in lessons whatsoever. Dorothea, with her own sniffling nose, had rolled her eyes, then, claiming that Ferdinand could take care of himself.

That was true, for the most part, but Hubert still felt a deep desire to aid him, regardless. It was rare to see Ferdinand fragile _physically_ , after all.

So perhaps he was gentle in a way few in his past would ever have believed of him, what with how he kept a careful arm around Ferdinand, supporting him, even after it was over, even as he wiped the blood from his face and helped him to slowly sip at his water, even as he held him close and allowed his head to rest on his shoulder instead of back down on the pillows.

And still, he waited in silence, with only a soft kiss to Ferdinand’s brow as he allowed the younger to catch his breath, gasps fading to pants, and finally to slow, though perhaps shallow, breaths.

“H… Hu…”

“Please, save your energy. You’ll be recovering for a while yet.”

Ignoring any protest to come, Hubert then helped him lay back, though he did not falter when Ferdinand kept a weak grip on him, using his chest in place of a pillow. No, he only sighed then, accepting this fate as he leaned back himself, running thin fingers through long orange tresses. As icy as Ferdinand’s fingers were where they clutched, his face was still overly warm.

“It’s… it’s fine, I… what… what about Reinhilde?”

Another soft kiss pressed against his scalp. “Her Highness is perfectly well. No damage befell her or any of the other children. You, however, seem to have forgotten that you are no longer some spritely fool of a knight, and took a far harder blow than you have in over a decade.”

Any further quip or insult died on his tongue when Ferdinand gave a tiny huff of laughter, the memory of agony at nearly _losing_ him silencing those thoughts.

“I’m… I’m cold.”

With only the slightest roll of his eyes, Hubert wrapped his other arm around Ferdinand, wary to not hold too tightly or jostle him. “Yes, well. You lost quite a bit of blood, and I’m certain you’ve suffered through enough of Her Grace’s faith magic to know what awaits you now. I assure you that you’re in fact quite heated, enough so that whatever remains of your brain has surely melted away.”

It was a testament to either how tired or how awful Ferdinand felt that he only sighed in return, letting his eyes fall closed, though his breathing betrayed his wakefulness.

For once, Hubert couldn’t stand the silence.

“You almost died.” _You did die_ , Hubert had meant, but the words tasted like ash on his tongue, “The imperial consort had to rewind the clock.”

Any little color that had remained in Ferdinand’s face seemed to shrink away at his words, voice a fraction weaker with understanding. “Oh… I… Hubert…”

“Do not apologize,” the older warned, another kiss against his ear, “I know. I _know_ . Her Highness’ life was endangered. I would have done the same.” _I should have done it in your stead._ “It is simply… difficult.”

Ferdinand forced his hand to wrap around Hubert’s own when he heard his voice break, knowing the turmoil his beloved was likely experiencing. Hubert had never been good at being selfish, not when the family he served was involved.

He didn’t expect Hubert to continue speaking.

“When you fainted, the looks that were delivered- it has been a long time since I’ve seen either so distressed.”

“Truly?” The smile on Ferdinand’s face was far from happy, far from true. “I cannot imagine it being any worse than some of the things we’ve dealt with in the past few years.”

“Most recently I can acquaint it to is the way our old professor looked nearly a decade ago, when his sister nearly perished. Besides that, I have not seen the expression since war.”

Ah, and there it was. Ferdinand had missed that event, far too busy with keeping his own affairs in line to attend that meeting in the monastery with Hubert and Edelgard. Even now he remembers the tightness Hubert carried upon his return, a subtle anxiety that few others would have perceived.

It unnerved _all_ of them when their ex-professors fell apart. And now, regrettably, it was his fault.

Another tentative kiss pressed against the back of his neck, Hubert’s voice even lower than before. “I do not envy the attention you will be getting for this. Her Highness will likely throw a fit once she’s recovered from the shock. Besides her, your _own_ children will have much to say, I’m certain.”

Ignoring the tight sense of panic that had started to grow in his chest, Ferdinand allowed a weary sigh. “Right… right, of course… that must have all been terrifying for the children. So long as Reinhilde’s alright, however… I think I can suffer through whatever lingering issues this may present. We _are_ in peace, after all! So everything will be _fine_ -”

Running a thumb over Ferdinand’s mouth to silence him, Hubert gave a steely glare to Ferdinand, unreadable in his expression. “Do not think about the war. I can practically feel you making up some inane excuse to relate back to it. The children are fine. You played the insufferable card for heroics, and in the end only you will endure the pain of it. Granted, Amira has now undeniably killed a man, but it is never too early for a Vestra to start their work.”

“She - _what_? You can’t mean that-”

The Prime Minister’s words were cut off again by another seize to his lungs, unable to hold in the quiet cry of pain that followed, but still all too aware of how still Hubert grew beneath him when it happened. When it appeared he was to attempt to speak again, Hubert stopped him.

“Edelgard has given the order that you _rest_ . That is all that you are permitted to do, so cease your words, for tonight. Dealing with what must follow is none of your concern. Until you are truly well, you _will_ be monitored by me. That is a _threat_.”

And if Ferdinand gave a small huff, faint whisper of _‘terrible man’_ just barely reaching Hubert’s ears, he allowed it to, if only so that he could ignore the trembling that had taken over Ferdinand’s body. Instead, he leant back just a bit further, keeping his arms secure around his love, letting a hand carefully press down and stroke his back, desperate that it would, perhaps, alleviate some of the harm done to his lungs. He did not allow room for any protest, but it hardly mattered, the shallow breaths turning a bit deeper, a bit slower, as Ferdinand fell back asleep.

Yes, Hubert would certainly need a hefty pot of coffee in the morning, but if nothing else he was glad to stay awake for the night.

***

Admittedly, the next few days were very hazy for Ferdinand. The first two following the injury were especially so, given the fever that drowned his senses that had arisen from the archbishop’s overbearing faith. It didn’t really sink in until near midday following the trauma, and he had only been conscious once or twice that day.

Hubert did not get to relish in the same dazed ignorance of pain that he knew Ferdinand was wrapped in. Instead he was constantly at his side, ever careful to take note of his current condition. The spike in temperature was of no surprise, even _he_ had suffered through Byleth’s burning healing at some point, but it still caused his heart to ache when it was Ferdinand who suffered from it. The fever seemed to heighten Ferdinand’s distress, making the man far more likely to become restless and fitful instead of sleeping peacefully.

Even though Hubert had warned him, concerned, not to think on the war, it appeared that his husband’s subconscious would not let the idea go. Hubert had been nearly about to lose his mind when he noticed a deep bruising spread up underneath the bandages on Ferdinand’s torso, desperate in equal parts to find a way to bring him relief as well as not leave his side in fear of something going wrong.

Gottfried, his _angel_ , had appeared right then, timidly poking his head into the room and asking if, perhaps, he would like a fever reducer, sent straight from Edelgard herself.

As soon as it had been administered, Hubert had swept his eldest up into a tight embrace. It hardly came as a surprise when Gottfried returned it, eyes wetting Hubert’s shoulder as he dissolved into weeping.

So they sat together on the bed, Hubert letting his son expel his anxieties, and if a warm hand continued to stroke a thumb over Gottfried’s knee the whole time, neither of them noticed.

Ludolf and Amira were both far more hesitant to see their fathers. While Gottfried was content sitting there, reading, or being held by Hubert, Ludolf _had_ to be doing something. He’d get more water, or food, or dart about the room, happy to plait his papa’s hair or fetch his father a change of clothes. His easygoing nature was a blessing, able to make weak jokes that would make his brother smile, even a little, or make his sister kick his ankles.

Amira, herself, was a special case. Despite being five, she clearly had a better grip on the meaning of mortality than either of her brothers, and while merely having a couple conversations with Ferdinand was enough to brighten the boys, she was far more wary.

She treated Ferdinand with far more concern and hesitance than any five year old was apt to, refusing to touch him if he slept, and only cautiously burying into his side, clutching his arm, if he was awake.

Honestly, Hubert hadn’t expected Amira’s behavior. The youngest of their children would cuddle up close to Ferdinand, little fingers tangled in his hair as she pressed up against his arm as much as possible. The two had never been close, Amira far more likely to cling to Hubert in the past year she had been with them, but that had been expected. Hubert was the one who decided to adopt her, Hubert was the one she was stuck with from the time they were at the monastery until they travelled back to the Aegir territory, Hubert was the one teaching her to control her magic, and Hubert was the one that was making an effort to learn words and phrases of Almyran so that he could assist in Amira’s education. She had wanted _nothing_ to do with Ferdinand’s doting or grooming, and he had had little success in fawning over her like he had his sons.

His reaction to being treated like glass by _Amira_ of all people was to gently comb his fingers through her tangled, thick hair, hoping it would calm her down from where she pouted at his side. The result of such an action was petulant tears and a tight hug around his bicep, the child promising she’d kill anyone who tried to hurt him again.

Perhaps others would have found it disturbing, but Ferdinand could only see it as endearing. She really did take after Hubert; the man had made the same promises while kissing his temples and staying awake at night with him when he couldn’t sleep.

Still, try as he might to placate her, the only thing that could call her attention away from his side was Reinhilde.

Reinhilde was an entire matter herself. Edelgard had come by as often as she could while still keeping track of her duties, both to make sure Hubert was still sane as well as Ferdinand alive. The first time she had come in while Ferdinand was awake was… more emotional than Hubert really felt equipped to deal with, if he was being honest. Edelgard had marched up to her Prime Minister, eyes sharp and looking prepared to launch into the scolding of the decade before she managed to properly reach his side and all of her fire went out.

It was as if she had seen his tired eyes and rumpled expression, a sight far more familiar with war than their school days, and her fire immediately was doused in frustrated tears.

She had placed a hardened hand on his shoulder as her eyes glossed over, words for once missing before he rolled his own eyes and pulled her into a hug, ignoring the tightness of his wounds. The tears trickled out, then, the tiny emperor shaking in his hold.

Edelgard wanted to be angry with him, she really did. She wanted to lecture him, perhaps even yell, and scold him to Ailell and back. Instead:

“I… I cannot thank you _enough_ for the sacrifice you were willing to make.”

The soft chuckle was ruined by the hitch of still-shallow breathing. “We are not the old Kingdom, El. I know you would have done the same.”

She had been hard enough to face. It was, somehow, far worse when she stood by the side of her daughter, hand on her back as she urged her forward.

Reinhilde had been missing in the couple days so far into his recovery, which really was a shame given that Ferdinand still wished for reassurance of her health.

It was with a sob that Reinhilde had launched herself at him, arms wrapped firmly about his neck as she gave all sorts of rampant apologies. It took a near quarter-hour to calm her down, promising that yes, Uncle Ferdinand was fine, everything was okay.

Yet somehow… the children had been _easy_. At least, that was Hubert’s opinion. He still hadn’t reminded Ferdinand of the due arrival of their friends.

Hubert had been with Edelgard to greet the countesses and queen, not so much out of political obligation but fondness. He wouldn’t have been able to do the former anyways, given that Ferdinand was still recovering and Hubert on break until otherwise. As it was, Ferdinand had been making progress, staying awake for longer periods of time and fully shaking off his fever, mostly only still forced to rest because of the archbishop’s cautious orders. While his breathing was still weak and his abdominal organs still sensitive and protesting the concept of most foods, he was no longer choking on his own blood or fainting, which Hubert was extremely thankful for. He could be left alone to sleep while Hubert greeted their guests.

In retrospect, Hubert should have known it was a bad idea. If they had both been missing, it could have been chalked up to work or something innocent. As it was, Hubert’s presence made Ferdinand’s absence all the more obvious, which Bernadetta pointed out as soon as Petra and Dorothea had attacked Edelgard with their hugs.

News had spread, of course. Most of Fódlan was well aware within a day or two, given the nature of gossip that quickly travelled. If anything, it served as a warning to those who opposed the empire: it would not be so easy to lay a hand on the imperial family. Yet, even still, the news had not reached Brigid, and hence had not caught the attention of any of the three old classmates that stood before them.

Edelgard gave a quick excuse that resulted in Hubert leaving them to a quick catch-up while he retreated to his quarters.

He heard what was happening before he saw it: outside the door, the faintest sounds of soft singing, but the voice was not quite as warm nor did it have the same depth as Ferdinand’s. Nor were they the elaborate operatic chords that Ferdinand so often enjoyed running through; these were slow and at times halting, dipping every other note, a familiar lullaby.

Gottfried’s voice would, no doubt, be as rich as both of his biological parents’, one day. For now, it was still high and sweet, full of ridiculous charm. Their old professor would have no doubt wished for the boy to be the dancing rep for the White Heron Cup should he have been in the class.

Sure enough, when Hubert opened the door, Gottfried was nestled up on the bed with a book in his lap, orange curls pulled into a tight, neat braid that had doubtlessly been done by Ludolf. Even though his back was toward the door, it was obvious to Hubert that Ferdinand was sleeping.

The bright orange eyes peeked up from the book as Gottfried’s singing broke off, not even a hint of red on his cheeks - it seemed he took after his mother’s confidence, and not his father’s, in this fashion - a tightness to his brow fading as relief brought forth a smile to his father.

It was with care that Hubert swept forward, dark robes swift against the floor, pressing a quick yet gentle kiss to his son’s forehead, “Has anything happened?”

There was no use in asking Gottfried why he was here, anyways: more often than not if one of the children passed by they’d let themselves in, especially if Hubert stepped out for a moment.

Gottfried spared a glance to Ferdinand before pursing his lips slightly, giving a small sigh before looking back to Hubert. “I think that Papa had another nightmare. He was shaking and… and gasping, when I came in, but I think I calmed him down?”

“You did well,” Hubert agreed, taking note of his husband. Sure enough, he was slightly paler than when he had left, but he seemed to be sleeping deeply. “I have a troubling request to ask of you, Gottfried. I need you to-”

“-Distract Auntie Dorothea so that she doesn’t twist your ear off?” Gottfried challenged, tone sharp and a small smile upon his face, “I suppose I can make an exception for you, Father, even though Rein suggested we gang up on Ludolf to train him in axes, today. Amira would heckle him, but somehow Uncle Byleth got her to take a nap.”

“Most impressive,” Hubert drawled, cut off quickly by a bout of sharp knocking at the door. He could not help but scowl when he saw Ferdinand shift as a result, they were all far lighter sleepers since the war, save Linhardt, but just as swiftly as it happened Gottfried practically leapt from the bed, allowing for Hubert to take his place.

In one motion Gottfried threw the door open, disappeared, and shut it softly behind him.

Hubert failed to suppress a sigh as he sat down heavily on the bed, resting a hand on what felt to be Ferdinand’s hip bone in what he hoped was a comforting movement. While he adored Gottfried’s eagerness to do his very best, Hubert was not so naive. This was Dorothea after all, and not even her own son by blood would be able to hold her off for very long.

_“Oh! Gottfried, you surprised me. I wasn’t expecting you to open the door! I’m certain that Hubert was the one that just bolted in here…”_

_“It’s wonderful to see you, Auntie! Where’s Britta and the boys?”_

_“Britta and Helmut are both still asleep, Petra was going to carry them out of the carriage if they didn’t wake up. Ehren caught sight of Amalric and latched onto him immediately, I’ve honestly no idea where those two have gone off to.”_

_“Oh, uh… perhaps we should go look for them, then? Amalric can’t be wandering around without a guard nearby, and I don’t think he’d intentionally give one the slip, so we could probably find them really easily!”_

Hubert could hear Dorothea’s small huff through the door as the woman raised her voice just a bit more, knowing someone was likely eavesdropping.

_“Gottfried, dear, come on now, you’re trying to change the subject. I know your father has retreated to his room, and isn’t that quite rude of him? I’m a guest, shouldn’t he be tripping over himself to attend to me?”_

_“We… we’re both referring to Father, right?”_

_“Who else could I be speaking of? I haven’t seen any blindingly bright smiles or shining locks except for the ones you have, sweetie. At least_ one _of your fathers greeted us.”_

_“Papa isn’t in Enbarr right now! He had business with Count Bergliez!”_

A beat of hopeful silence. Hubert wasn’t an optimist.

_“Sweetheart, I know you try very hard, but how many times must I tell you that you can’t get away with lying to me? You have the same tells as Ferdie. So why don’t you be a dear and, oh… track down Ehren for me? I’ll give you an extra chocolate from Brigid when I show everyone their souvenirs.”_

Ah, so it was to be a lost cause, then. Hubert suspected as much. Sure enough, within a few moments the door slammed open, only kept from banging into the wall by a rich rug on the floor. With a nonchalance of someone who has had to do it all too many times, a quick flick of his wrist allowed for Hubert to cast a Silence spell on the songstress.

“Close the door and keep your voice down or her majesty of Brigid will be down one of her consorts.”

Dorothea had the gall to look absolutely furious, but only for a moment. Shoulders squared, she turned and shut the door softly; Hubert knew without a doubt that had she not caught a glimpse of the other occupant in the room it would have been a slam. With another small movement, he recalled the spell from her. Silence magic wasn’t his forte anyways, and it likely would not have lasted much longer against such a willful mage in her own right.

Sure enough, the second she could speak again Dorothea let out a sharp hiss: “ _What_ is going on? I’ll have you know that you startled Bernie, running off like that! What’s wrong with-”

She stopped, dutifully, when Ferdinand gave a small stir. Hubert splayed his fingers along where his hand rested, not bothering to keep his voice a proper whisper.

“An assassin attempted to take her Highness’s life. Ferdinand took the blow in her stead and nearly perished as a result.”

He could see the way Dorothea blanched, hands weakly clenching into fists before she took another step closer to sit on the bed beside him. “When you say… Hubie, when you say _‘nearly perished’_ , tell me you mean… you mean that you’re exaggerating out of your horrendously overwhelming concern, and not…”

Dorothea didn’t know what she had hoped in reply, but somehow Hubert looking _away_ from her was worse than any glare he could have given. Bracing her elbows on her knees, she pressed her face into her hands.

“Oh, _Ferdie_ , you… I expect this from, from Caspie, or Felix, not… He just turned _forty_ this year, he’s not exactly a spring chicken any longer…”

“Which is why it is important that he _rests_.”

The idea that any of the Black Eagle Strike Force would live to forty was honestly daunting in itself, even though the two at hand knew fully well that they were the oldest of the bunch. It wasn’t as though Ferdinand was out of shape, the man still took _far_ too much time training and bettering himself than any Prime Minister ought to be able to set aside from politics, but he still hadn’t been in such violent conditions in over a decade, much less taken such a grievous injury. Certainly the Ferdinand of now could still easily triumph over the Manuela, Hanneman, and Alois of their academy days, but the clock of life didn’t just stop going forward, and no matter how well you kept yourself, faith magic was a tirelessly fickle thing. Capable knights were capable knights, but white magic could only do so much when used on someone past their prime.

Hence the precautions. Hence the continued application of bandages even if the wound had been closed. Hence being continuously confined to his quarters.

Caspar never stopped moving, really, but he could _afford_ to keep getting into fights; he constantly had a healer within arm’s reach that knew how to heal him better than anyone. Even Felix and Leonie, always down for a skirmish, at least had a child to tend to and political work to be done to distract them. This had been a chance, but _not_ unforeseen, result and once again Hubert found himself questioning his motives and loyalty if it meant almost having to watch Ferdinand _die_ instead of Reinhilde, which was treacherous, the girl was practically his niece, not to mention a part of the imperial household of which he swore his very _being_ to, and yet, and _yet_ , Edelgard had another potential heir, Hubert only had the one husband, and he could not even _begin_ to put into words the disgust and loathing he felt towards himself for even allowing the thoughts to tiptoe through his mind.

Dorothea leaned over, resting her head on Hubert’s shoulder.

“Stop thinking about it. Lin would be exhausted just looking at you.”

“I’m exhausted just thinking about you thinking…”

Hubert gave a sigh as he felt the body beneath the blankets shifting, “You should go back to sleep if you’re so exhausted.”

“Can’t,” Ferdinand mumbled in reply as he turned to lie on his back, palming his eyes. “Gottfried certainly tried… his best, but there’s… there’s guests, aren’t there? I ought to at least make a formal appearance, just once. No harm will come from just an hour of socializing…”

“Oh, Ferdie,” Dorothea hummed, a small smile on her face as she reached out to take one of his hands in her own, shaking her head, “you’re still half asleep, darling, I’m sure any important guests can be satisfied coming to _you_ instead.”

Hubert took the quiet moment of confusion to lean back and press a hand firmly over Ferdinand’s chest, just in time for him to attempt to shoot up, the equestrian finding himself pinned to the mattress instead.

“ _Dorothea_ , you-”

“Don’t be a fool,” Hubert warned, though the heat was missing when it came to his husband, “every time you startle up you send yourself into a fit. If you are so bent on having company you _will_ do your best not to cough up your damn lungs with them as witnesses.”

Ferdinand took the caution as the concern it was, raking his free hand back through his hair while the other remained in Dorothea’s grasp. “I’m… fine. Thank you, regardless, for… being wary on my behalf.”

“It certainly seems like you’re going to need more than Hubie to be wary on your behalf,” Dorothea scolded, also lacking any venom, “I’m sure Bernie would love to help out in that regard; she was worried enough when she didn’t see you to greet us and she doesn’t even _know_ why, yet. Edie’s bound to tell them, of course, I was simply… impatient.”

“How unlike you,” he murmured, smiling nonetheless. “I… well, I know that everyone seems loathe to let me up, but I was hoping that I’d at least be able to join everyone for dinner, tonight. It’d be nice, having so many of us together again.”

“If only Caspar and Linhardt were able to cease their inane wandering. They’ve seen every country heard of by now, one would think they’d actually settle down and commit themselves to the politics they _agreed_ to handle.”

Dorothea hummed at Hubert’s bitter remark, running a thumb over Ferdinand’s hand as a mischievous twinkle lit up her eyes, “Oh? I suppose then I shouldn’t tell you that according to the last letter I received from Lin, a certain couple will be nearby Enbarr tonight~. Seems that the current rumor is that our dear _wanderers_ haven’t been seen much out of Hevring territory the past week. Maybe you’ve finally gotten your wish, hmm?”

“When did you hear of this?” Hubert squinted, quietly taken aback by this lack of knowledge. He let Dorothea’s infuriating smile slide, it being far too a part of her personality by now.

“Well, in the letter Lin had mentioned wanting to check up on the two of you, I simply hadn’t known why - and said it’d be good a time as ever, if it meant getting to see all of the kids he’s fathered. Britta’s been terribly excited over it, in her own way.”

“It would be… _wonderful_ to see everyone, again,” Ferdinand sighed, wistful, “I can’t remember if there’s been a time with all of us _and_ all of our children in one place. Even with the Imperial nobles usually residing in Enbarr, between Petra and our dearest _wanderers_ , as you say, it feels like forever.”

“I cannot agree that so much excitement will be healthy for you,” Hubert argued, lips thin in a way that showed his thoughts, “altogether our old class was… _is_ chaotic. You’d fuss too much simply in the act of making yourself presentable enough to join in the dining hall.”

“Well, um, you could, maybe, bring everyone together here, as a compromise? You can, uh, micromanage Ferdinand by keeping him in bed while he can still be with everyone?”

The soft voice that came from the doorway immediately caught everyone’s attention, a head of purple hair peeking in hesitantly in a terribly familiar way. Dorothea smiled at the sight of her wife, Ferdinand too lighting up at seeing an old friend.

“Dearest Bernadetta! You may be onto something with that…”

***

Byleth had never truly believed he would see a day such as this. Certainly, during the war, he’d dreamed of it, but it still seemed so outlandish to consider. To think that there’d ever be a time where he would be able to gather with his old students, _all of them_ , in a place where they were happily wed, at peace, with all of their children bustling in and out of the room and getting into trouble… it was enough to fill him with some sort of emotion.

He himself was perched on a windowsill in the Vestra-Aegir quarters, Edelgard sitting on the floor and using his legs to lean against. Reinhilde and Amalric were hosting their own sort of party in Reinhilde’s room, though there was likely less alcohol involved.

Bernadetta had her head resting on Dorothea’s shoulder as they sat against the door, Petra lying on the floor with her head in Bernadetta’s lap. Britta and Ehren were with the other kids, Helmut himself asleep in Dorothea’s lap, the toddler overwhelmed by all of the energy from the amount of people nearby.

Hubert sat on the side of his bed, constantly having at least one of his hands on Ferdinand’s legs: the dark minister had certainly become a lot more open in his shows of affections over the last decade or so, and it was nice to see that he’d calmed down some from the ordeal the week had been. Ludolf wouldn’t want to be caught dead around so many adults, his older brother and younger sister both absent if only to glue themselves to Reinhilde’s side.

Linhardt took up the entire chaise in the room, never one to share a seat if it meant he could lie down. Even so, he was still awake, _smiling_ , and talking amongst the others as though it wasn’t becoming late in the slightest. Caspar sat on the arm of the chaise, constantly kicking his legs as he chatted, more than eager to ask about how Brigid was faring and pestering Dorothea for the next big news in opera.

Frankly, it reminded Byleth of the free days back at the academy, before class officially began. Everyone would be spread haphazardly around their classroom, but not in such comfort as this. Surely Edelgard would be standing, rigid, in the center, not on her second glass of champagne and grinning at a rare joke from Bernadetta. Likewise, Hubert would be at her side or lurking in a corner, glaring daggers at the very man he now kissed the hand of when conversation lulled. Bernadetta and Linhardt would likely be in their own rooms, not quite willing to face the day, and Caspar would be missing in an attempt to drag his _boyfriend_ , not husband, out. Dorothea and Ferdinand would be doing their best to help Petra with reading an assignment aloud at the last second, bickering with each other as they did over semantics, usually ending in a sly insult from Dorothea that Petra would ask for clarification on. Now it was Dorothea as a bee circling her queen, sending fond gazes to everyone around her and laughing at all the jokes that came her way, a child in her arms and _happy_.

Things weren’t perfect, of course. They likely never would be. He no longer constantly had his sister by his side, and she had been faced with so many scares over the years in regard to health, to family, that certainly there were more in stock. Marianne wasn’t here to tell him about how Prythie’s riding was coming along; Alois was getting very old and hardly found the time or ability to visit anymore… and there would always, always be threats to his family, threats to his students, as obvious as it was with Ferdinand still being a trace too pale and not indulging in the drinks, but for the moment, everyone was here. Whole. Safe.

Every last one of them was _smiling_.

If they had needed to go through all of their hardships for this to be the end result, so be it. His eagles were strong, even if they kept getting thrown around, and they would always get back up hardier than before.

So perhaps it was for the best that he was not Sothis, and he had less power than his sister.

Byleth had no need to rewind the past when this was the future he’d won.


End file.
